Wallow
by singsongsung
Summary: No.21. Rory/Logan.


**Wallow**

**A/N:** I couldn't resist. And yay, I got 18 reviews on the fic I posted yesterday! Eighteen reviews and five hundred and twenty-five hits. Kind of depressing, still. But I'm done complaining; everyone who does review rocks.

Another Rogan. Connected to Two TwentyNine and all it's prequels/sequels.

I know that some of the stuff that's discussed **Wallow** probably doesn't make that much sense to you. I'm moving around in time pretty sporadically. But it will all be explained in good time. Stick with me, guys. Eventually, you'll know everything there is to know. If you're curious about something or you want to know what's going on at some other time in their lives, let me know in a review and I'll write it out. It's all mapped out in my head. Read on!

He was miserable. He was fucking miserable.

He'd spent the last three days of his life in a moody, depressed state. Both his mother and Honor had been very tolerant for the first five hours. But then his mother cracked and began chain-smoking as she ranted at him, angry and teary-eyed. Honor had sighed in frustration, given him one final hug, and told him firmly that she'd stop by often to check up on everything.

He was wallowing. He could admit it to himself and no one else. He could easily say, "I'm sulking" to others in a brisk, snappish tone that indicated that he knew exactly what he was doing and that he had very good reasons for doing it. But sulking and wallowing were two different things, and he was pretty sure he was doing the latter. Maybe he was doing both.

He got drunk. He drank and drank and when he finally fell asleep, he dreamt about her. He cursed her in his dreams, yelled and screamed, told her a million things he didn't mean. When he woke up, he wasn't sure if it had been a dream or reality, which somehow made everything more depressing.

Jana tiptoed around him nervously. He hadn't emerged from his study when he was drinking, but the next day he had the worst hangover of his life and was prone to snapping at inanimate objects (the TV for turning on when he accidentally hit the power button with his elbow, for example) and she seemed afraid of him. He kept meaning to tell her to leave, that she shouldn't have to put up with him, that it wasn't her job to worry about and avoid an angry Huntzberger. Sometimes he was sure that he had told her to leave, and was confused to see that she was still there.

He couldn't have told her to leave, of course. She was taking care of Lory. Lucas was keeping to himself, eating very little and avoiding everyone. It worried Logan when he was sober, but most of the time (when he was drunk) he was happy about it. "I'm glad he's avoiding me like the freaking bubonic plague. If I don't look at him, I don't have to look at her. He has her eyes, nose, smile, everything. My ears, though," he told his globe (which she had, for some reason, insisted on buying for him years ago) proudly. "Kid's got my ears."

Lory, too, was pretty much a carbon copy of her. Logan didn't need to see his kids, he was sure. It was better that way.

On the third night, he settled in his study to drink. The funeral had been earlier that day. To Logan, that fully rationalized an evening of intense drinking. But the more responsible part of him decided to just get a _little_ drunk that night. At least, not as much as before.

The phone rang before he finished his second glass. Jana tapped on the door hesitantly. "Mr. Huntzberger? It's for you. It's important."

He picked it up and brought it to his ear lazily. "What?"

"Hey," a voice said softly. "How're you doing?"

He wrinkled his brow. He wasn't really intoxicated yet, and he knew better. This was some sort of trick to get him to let his guard down before she blew up at him. "Why're you asking me that?" he retorted.

She sighed. "Because Rory's been lying in bed for three days crying her eyes out."

"Knew it," he muttered.

Lorelai continued as though she hadn't heard him. "And I figured you'd be in bad shape, too. I didn't know if you had anyone to talk to."

"Oh. Well. Yeah, I'm shitty."

"I can imagine," she said softly. "Logan…"

"Keep going," he urged harshly. _She_ often did that when she was talking to him about something important, left a gentle pause after his name. He didn't want to be reminded of her.

"Logan, sometimes I relate more to you than I do to my own daughter, my baby, the fruit of my loins. It scares me and I hate it and I've never told anyone. But I do. I grew up there, Logan, and I know what it's like. I don't know what it's like to be you, obviously, but that atmosphere…I know it all too well. And when my Dad died, it was _the_ most horrible thing for me."

"Why?" he asked cautiously.

"Because my dad and I were never extremely close. I can't remember ever telling him that I loved him. And it hurts when someone like that dies, because you miss them even more because they've caused you some pain. It's screwed up, but isn't everything? It's easier to allow yourself to miss someone you love."

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, as if he was under her penetrating gaze instead of miles away. She did know. "She's there?" he asked quietly.

"She's here," Lorelai confirmed. "Listen, kid, I…I'm sorry."

"What has she said?"

Lorelai snorted in frustration. "Nada. Zilch."

"I…" he trailed off.

"I know," she said softly. "I have to go get Emma to bed. You…you can call me, you know. Whenever. About whatever. Not that you will. But if you need to."

He massaged his forehead tiredly. "Yeah. Thanks, Lorelai."

"Not a problem," she said simply, and hung up.

He hung up his phone as well. Of course she'd gone to Stars Hollow. He knew that. Lorelai had been right there when…everything…had happened, and had whisked her daughter out of the house with a protective glare in her eyes. Also, it had been the return address on The Card.

The Card was more of an event then a simple piece of paper. The Card had been addressed to Mrs. Shira Huntzberger in neat cursive writing. The front had some sort of sad, lonely looking flower on it. The inside didn't have any sort of over-earnest statement or Hallmark rhyme. It was blank save for a few words in that same cursive writing. _Shira and Honor, I am terribly sorry for your loss. My thoughts are with you. Rory._

He'd read that stupid card with the stupid drawing of a half-wilted flower on the front over and over. Shira and Honor. Honor and Shira. One member of the Huntzberger family had been omitted. He was her husband; what had that gotten him? Not even a half-wilted flower card. What did that say about their marriage? What did that say about _her_?

He stared at the various bottles of alcohol lined up in front of him. He glanced uninterestedly at his glass and stood. He hated going to bed without her there, he was just too used to the way she cuddled into his side, the way she smiled in her sleep contentedly. But the past two nights spent slumped in awkward positions in his study had taken a toll on his body, especially his neck and back. So he tossed several throw pillows onto her side of the bed. At least they'd take up space.

He woke up the next morning to a hand roughly shaking his shoulder. "What…?" he muttered, blinking, and the hand pulled away quickly.

When his eyes opened fully, he saw Rory standing above him, her arms crossed. She was wearing a worn pair of Harvard sweats (Yale would remind her of him; he understood how her mind worked). Over top she wore a haphazardly buttoned trench coat style jacket. Her feet were jammed into flip flops and she wore no makeup, revealing dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes. He squinted at her, but she spoke first.

"I'm taking the kids."

It felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He noticed, then, that Lucas was standing in the doorway, all dressed, looking heartbreakingly innocent and sad. He noticed his father's gaze upon him and waved mournfully.

"Rory- no."

"Yes. I don't care what you say; I'm not leaving you here with them. I'm not that kind of person." She turned briskly on her heal, breathing heavily. She had obviously rehearsed her lines.

"Rory! Wait! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"I'm _leaving_! I'm taking my kids and I'm getting them the hell out of this house!" Tears were pooled in her eyes. No amount of rehearsal could control her emotions. She slipped her fingers into her son's hair soothingly. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said softly to him.

"Rory, do not _do_ this."

Her tears spilled out. "Fuck you," she said softly, reaching for Lucas' hand.

"Mommy," Lucas whimpered, looking at her imploringly.

"Rory, you don't want to do this. Custody battles, all that shit. Are you serious?"

She whirled around again. "I don't _know_! I don't know, Logan! I know that something crappy happened to you but it went about eight hundred steps further, because you are _not_ the man I married!"

"I don't care what you think of me now! Lucas and Lory are still my kids!"

"I'm their _mother_.

"I'm their_ father_."

Her cheeks, which had been blotchy from tears, paled. She looked like she'd been sleeping just as well as he was. "I know," she said. She looked down at the floor, and then back up at him, a mixture of distress and defiance clear in her eyes. "But right now, we're _leaving_." She settled Lory into her arms. "Lucas, come on."

"Are we leaving forever?" he asked.

"Of course not, baby. Now let's move, okay?" Rory asked, gentle even though she was obviously in a hurry.

"Bye, Daddy," Lucas said softly, looking at his father with the eyes Logan had dreaded seeing for the past three days. He suddenly hated himself. He should have at least looked at his children. He should have known that she would come for them. As much as he wanted to believe that she could be satisfied knowing that her children were in the nanny's care, he knew that she never would be. She trusted Jana, but she adored her children to the end of the earth and back again.

"Bye, kiddo," Logan said, as reassuringly as he could. "See you soon."

He watched them leave with a heavy heart. He waited until he heard the front door close before sitting back down on the bed. It was his fault; he knew that as well as he knew that Rory'd probably stashed all of her Yale paraphernalia in a box or drawer so that she wouldn't be reminded of him. He had caused this. His children were driving to Stars Hollow with their mother at that moment because of him.

"Jesus, Ace," he muttered to himself. "You still could've at least put my name on the fucking card."

**A/N:** Review, pretty please.


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